


Spicing it Up

by FicXation



Category: Sam & Max
Genre: Freelance Husbands, Gen, M/M, Max/Sam (Sam & Max) - Freeform, Mostly Fluff, OR IS IT??, Sam/Max (Sam & Max), don't worry it's SFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 20:57:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19449400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FicXation/pseuds/FicXation
Summary: Sam proposes something a little unorthodox for his and Max's night off... But is it too much for even MAX to handle?





	Spicing it Up

“Uh-huh? … Yeah. Oh, yeah. Absolutely… Ah, Mahzeltov! … Well, give her my best. Goodbye, sir.”

“Well?” Max asked, anxiously popping his head out from the crowded confines of their office trash can. Their usual scuffle over the phone always landed him in the strangest of places… “What’d the commissioner say?”

Sam, shaking his head, hung up the receiver.

“Sorry, lil’ buddy. No aliens, demons, mutants, or some unholy amalgamation of the three.”

“What about a ponzi scheme?!” Max rocketed himself from the trashcan, snagging at Sam’s collar in a panicked frenzy. “Embezzlement?! … Hell, I’ll even settle for mild _insurance fraud_ , jut gimme SOMETHING, man! _Anything_!”

With the air of one casually removing a tick, Sam snagged at Max’s ears, and plucked him from his lapel.

“Nothin’ doin’, Max. There isn’t even so much as a WHISPER of crime tonight.”

Tossing his friend to one side, Sam crossed over towards the open window, his hands comfortably nestled in their respective pockets.

“Seems as if the city that never sleeps is taking a much needed power nap.” he said thoughtfully.

His partner, however, was far from thoughtful.

“… Aaaaa _ **AAAHHHH**_ , I CAN’T TAKE THE SILENCE, SAM!! I need chaos! I need mayhem! I need some sense of superiority as I beat the snot out of some slimy smuggler!”

With a faintly groan, Max collapsed, face-first, against the floor. Sam, meanwhile, merely observed him, scratching at his doggish ear with a contemplative sort of expression.

“… Well…” Sam slid the window shut. “If you’re REALLY eager for something to do… We could, uh…” he cleared his throat, awkwardly straightening his tie. “Y'know… Spend some _‘quality’_ time together…”

Max’s despair seemed to vanish as quickly as it’d appeared. Scrambling to his feet, he race over towards Sam, leaping into his unsuspecting arms like a bride readying to cross the threshold.

“Why _SAMMY,_ you dirty dog…” Max cooed, snuggling up to his partner’s broad chest. “Why didn’t you just SAY so?”

He gave a saccharine giggle of mock, girlish delight, coyly tracing little circles against the fabric of Sam’s tie.

“What did you have in mind? … Ooh! Why don’t we break into the aquarium again and have a brief make-out sesh in the shark tank?”

“Ehh,” Sam shrugged. “I don’t think so… I always get the feeling those great whites are enjoying it far more than they should…”

“Fair enough… Oh! How’s about a game of _~French Maid Shooting the Balls Off a Nazi Officer?~_ ” Max’s smile then faded slightly. “Wait, no, I tore up my fishnet stockings after that caper in Reno last week… Ooh, I got it! How about you leave me handcuffed to the bed, forcing me to relive my mysterious childhood trauma as I desperately struggle for survival?” Max seemed to salivate at the very idea. “Oh my god… _**HOT**_ …”

“… Actually…” Sam gave a sheepish little smile. “I was thinking we could try something… _Different._ ”

“Oooh!” Max flashed a carnivorous grin. “Spicing it up, I see! Do tell!”

Sam opened his mouth to speak, before snapping it shut with a bashful whine. Whatever this idea was, it was evidently too embarrassing to speak aloud. Chewing his lower lip, Sam gestured for Max to come closer. Max, kicking his elongated feet excitedly, happily obliged, gleefully leaning in as Sam finally mustered the courage to whisper his proposal.

Max’s smile melted like an ice cube on a frying pan. Mouth agape, he suddenly drew back from Sam’s embrace.

“… Y-you’re… You’re not _SERIOUS_ , right?”

“We don’t have to try it if you don’t want to!” Sam said hurriedly, waving his hands. “I-it was just a thought!”

“… Yeah, but… Why THAT?” Max seemed repulsed by the very notion. “It’s just… It’s so… _Ugh!_ I can’t even _SAY_ it!”

“I know it’s a little… out of the norm for us-” Sam said, settling himself onto a chair as he shyly rubbed the back of his neck. “I just… y'know…”

“… Are you bored with our usual shtick?” Max looked almost hurt by the idea.

Sam’s ears pricked up almost at once.

“No! No, buddy, far from it! … I was only thinkin’… Maybe if we TRIED it, we might wind up likin’ it… We wouldn’t make a habit of it, of course, but…” he trailed off, lowering the brim of his hat down over his eyes. “… Nothing. Forget I even-”

“Do YOU wanna try it?”

… A surprisingly straightforward question, considering it was Max.

With a sputter of surprise, Sam felt the heat rise against his muzzle. Squaring his shoulders, he hurriedly glanced away.

“… Th-that… That’s not really impor-”

“ _Up-up-up!_ ” Max swatted a finger against Sam’s lip. “Shut it, Sam, I’ve heard enough. Look, if you REALLY wanna give this… THING a shot, I’m in.”

Sam finally returned his gaze to Max, eyes wide.

“But… But I thought-”

“Well, QUIT thinkin’, or you’ll work yourself into a freakin’ tizzy! And mind you, I don’t use the word 'tizzy’ that often.” Max reached up, readjusting Sam’s hat to its proper angle. “… At the risk of sounding like some pouty-faced teen in a bad chick-flick, I…” he glanced down, fidgeting with his hands. “… Well, I trust you. You wanna do something, so I’ll try it. If I like it, great. If I don’t, I get to take a baseball bat to your kneecaps. Win-win!”

“… When did a baseball bat enter into the equation?” Sam smiled slightly.

“It’s called 'incentive,’ Sam.” Max huffed, folding his arms. “So, we got a deal?”  
Sam’s chuckled lightly, patting a gentle paw to the crown of Sam’s head.

“Okay, lil’ buddy… If you insist.”

~~

Two hours later, Max found himself in the desolate hallway of their building, just outside their office door, feeling increasingly foolish with every passing second. Swallowing hard, he tugged at the faux pearls lining his throat. In spite of his bravado earlier, the whole ordeal made him uncharacteristically nervous… THIS was new territory for him and Sam… Sure, they’d been married almost eleven times, did the horizontal bop practically every _hour,_ and fooled around with everything from jumper cables to piggy banks… but _THIS…_

This wasn’t just spicing things up, this was dousing it in tabasco sauce before lighting it on _fire…_

“Saaa- _aaaam_ -” he whined aloud, hurriedly glancing over his shoulders. “C'mon, aren’t you ready YET?”

God forbid any of their neighbors, (least of all Flint Paper) should see him like this… Not that he didn’t look amazing. All these years later, and he could STILL rock his old prom dress like an absolute queen… It was just the context of the outfit that made it feel… _weird_ …

And the cheap Taiwanese plastic of the jewelry rubbing up against his fur probably didn’t help either.

“Just one more sec, pal!” Sam called back, and suddenly, there came the muffled noise of a clattering misstep, followed by a hefty _**THUMP.**_

Curious, Max raised a brow.

“… Ya still alive in there?”

“… J-just lost my footing!” Sam hollered, and Max, with a faint giggle, could hear the embarrassment in his voice.

 _’… Clumsy goof…’_ He thought fondly, straightening the candy-colored lace of his hem. Just then, the door swung open, and Max, glancing up, barely troubled to suppress his laughter.

A holdover from their 25th anniversary at the Inventory, Sam was all dolled up in his best, (and probably ONLY) tux; all in black, with a prominent bowtie and tophat replacing their casual counterparts.

“… Look, I didn’t have the time OR the money for a new suit, okay?” Sam grumbled, scowling at Max’s derisive mirth.

“H-hey! It’s important to recycle!” chuckled Max, wiping away a tear as he strolled across the threshold. As soon as the door closed behind him, however, he suddenly took stock of Sam’s… 'renovation.’

It quickly became clear why the whole elaborate set-up took close to two hours. The office was cleaner than Max’d ever seen it, (though, admittedly, most of the clutter had just been shoved up against the walls.) In the center stood their rarely used ping-pong table, made only somewhat classier by a red sheet posing as a tablecloth. The lights’d been dimmed, and the shudders drawn, leaving only the rust-stained candelabra as the main source of illumination. Max’s nostrils twitched, and he caught a familiar blend of tomatoes, diced onions, and oregano.

Spaghetti sauce.

… Romantic spaghetti sauce… Romantic spaghetti sauce with romantic outfits and romantic mood lighting… How could it get any worse?

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind-” Sam’s voice cut through Max’s train of thought. “I found one of my Sinatra CDs while I was cleaning. Would it be alright if I…?” he trailed off, smiling all too hopefully.

Sinatra. Of course. The perfect soundtrack for any romantic setting.

Max did his best to smile in spite of the anxiety twisting his stomach.

“Sinatra? _Sure!_ Put him on! Ol’ blue eyes! Swoonatra! Chairman of the board! After all, the guy’s been married four times! Who better to serenade our… d… d-d..” the very word seem to swell Max’s tongue. Dry-heaving, he promptly struck his own gut.

“D-DATE! OUR DATE!” he finally choked, gasping for air as he pressed his hands to his knees.

… The relief of finally verbalizing it was dampened slightly by the palpably awkward silence that followed.

“… You good, buddy?” asked Sam, worryingly. Max hurriedly straightened up, forcing a smile with such manic intensity that his left eye began to twitch.

“You betcha! I’m great! I’m better than great! I’m about to have a romantic candle-lit dinner with my… s… _s-sweetheart_ …” Max felt the blood rush to his face, but he bared his teeth, determined to persist. People used cutesy terminology during these things, right? Sam was probably expecting it by this point.

“… I-isn’t that right? … My little… Er… Sh-shumbly… _w-wubbles_?”

… Max would’ve given six of his own ribs to crawl under that table and never be seen by anyone ever again.

“… Y'know-” Sam smiled, though not unkindly, as he placed a gentle hand to Max’s rigid shoulder. “You don’t have to talk like that if it makes you uncomfortable… Heck-” he shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s kinda makin’ _ME_ uncomfortable…”

Max exhaled, his body going limp.

“Oh, thank GOD… No offense, Sam, but I just can’t do the cutesy-wutesy crap… At least _NOT_ unironically.”

“I’d have to agree,” nodded Sam, pulling out a chair for his partner. “Watching you trying to be purposefully adorable is like pulling teeth.”

“Um, I beg to differ, Sam.” Max hopped up onto the chair, the length of his legs barely making it past the edge of the seat. “Pulling teeth is both exhilarating and vaguely erotic. What I did a moment ago was just…” he gave a faint shudder. “ _Creepy…_ ”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head as he carefully pushed Max in.

“Well, that aside, I DO appreciate your willingness to give this a shot, Max. Just remember, if it gets to be too much, you can tap out at any time.” He fetched a comforting smile, playfully tussling the space between Max’s ears. “Don’t forget, our safeword is 'subvert.’”

“Aaah, subvert.” mused Max, settling back against his chair. “My favorite variety of ’ _vert,_ ’ second only to ’ _per_.’”

“Noodle-head.” Sam chortled. Leaning over, he planted a soft kiss to Max’s cheek, briefly savoring the familiarly fluffy texture against his lips. Max, with a sigh, contentedly leaned into it, a slow smile stretching across his face.

… Maybe this 'conventional’ date night wouldn’t be so bad…

“Oh, speaking of which-” Sam straightened up, breaking the kiss almost as soon as it’d begun. “I better check on the pasta before it burns.”

“Ohhhh,” groaned Max, reaching his arms out like a needy toddler. “Can’t we just skip the food and play tonsil-hockey for an hour?”

“Your vividly grotesque idioms for making out are strangely winsome, Max.” Sam commented, crossing through into the next room.

While his partner made himself busy, Max tried his best to occupy his sporadic attention, absent-mindedly studying the slender prongs of his laid-out fork.

 _’… I wonder how far I could get this up my nose…’_ he pondered, before hurriedly shaking his head. _'No, no… No zaniness… Sam wants a nice, romantic evening, and by God’s left nipple, I WILL DELIVER!’_

… But there was that word again… Romantic… There was just something to it, some sense of unease that dangled from the phrase like a booger. But then again, maybe it wasn’t the word, but rather the aesthetic that came with it. Hearts, flowers, naked cherubs and giggling waifs and long walks on the beach… It was just all so…

_'Disgusting? Stupid? Flagrantly artificial?’_

… Embarrassing….

Maybe it was just because he and Sam never had to experience the awkwardness of a first date. They’d grown up together, and once they finally took their relationship to the next level, their lives just became one long, uninterrupted honeymoon phase. There was never any anxiety over impressing the other, no charade of exemplary manners.

Now, they were on a REAL date…

And Max had to suffer all the emotional torment that came with it.

“Hot stuff, comin’ through!”

Max gave a slight start. Quickly setting down the fork, he watched as Sam reentered the office, a saucer of steaming spaghetti on each hand.

“I’ll say you are.” Max smirked, disguising his surprise behind a snide little wink.

“Aw, hush.” scoffed Sam, smiling modestly as he placed their dinner towards their respective ends. Moving over towards the CD player atop his desk, Sam carefully slid the Sinatra disk into place, before hurriedly switching to his favorite track.

_“~Every kiss, every hug_

_seems to act just like a drug._

_You’re getting to be a habit with me._

_Let me stay in your arms,_

_I’m addicted to your charms._

_You’re getting to be a habit with me.~”_

“How apropos,” sneered Max, as the honey voice filled the space.

“Eh, what can I say?” Sam winked in return. “I’m a sucker for theming.”

Briefly retreating under the table, Sam soon withdrew a small ice bucket housing a bottle of something pink and bubbly. Holding it at arm’s length, Sam popped off the cork, taking care not to spill too much froth.

“… Champagne, eh?” Max smiled, a little uneasily, as Sam poured out their glasses. “… Gee, you, uh… Ya really went all out, huh?”

“Well, go big or go home, right?” Sam said, sounding somewhat unsure. Sliding the bottle back into the bucket, he took his seat opposite Max, suddenly looking around as if having noticed something.

“… Did I overdo it?”

“What? … Oh, _no!_ No!” Max shook his head. “No, I didn’t mean that in a bad way! I’m just…” _'Intimidated?’_ “… Flattered that you went to so much trouble, that’s all!”

Sam relaxed, taking a small sip from his drink, before chuckling. “… Heh… Well, I guess this is what you’d call a childhood fantasy.”

“… Really?” Max raised an eyebrow.

“Sure,” Sam bowed his head bashfully, his muzzle shifting from brown to red. “I’m only a _little_ ashamed to say so, but ever since my blossoming adolescence, it’s been a secret dream of mine to treat my special someone to a hand-crafted night of atmospheric intimacy.”

Max pressed a hand to his chest. That was.. surprisingly kind of touching…

“… What are you, a girl? Who refers to themselves as _blossoming_?”

Much like any knee jerk reaction, the quip was out before he even had a chance to think. Ears standing on end, he clenched his fists so hard against the table that the cloth began to bunch under his fingers. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t romantic… If the circumstances had been different, it would’ve been fine. Hell, it would’ve been expected… But this was a DATE, people aren’t supposed to make fun of their dates!

“But I DID blossom,” continued Sam, completely unfazed. “I blossomed like a beanstalk. What’s YOUR excuse, pint-size?”

Max heaved a sigh, releasing his snag on the wrinkled cloth.

 _'I’ve served as the racket for games of tennis that were less stressful than this…'_ he thought, snatching at his glass, and downing the drink in one quick-fire gulp.

“… You doin’ okay, buddy?” Sam said, and all at once, Max felt as if his hand were encased in an oversized catcher’s mitt. Max looked up, and saw Sam’s platter-sized paw gently caressing his apple-sized fist.

All at once, inspiration took hold; a chance for redemption.

… Or further mortification, depending on how you looked at it. For Max, the odds were pretty split.

Nevertheless, Max screwed up his courage, clutching at Sam’s hand with both of his own, he yanked at his partner’s arm, drawing the knuckles to his mouth…

… And _kissing_ them.

It was light, clumsy, and about as awkward as a grade school play, but he managed, hurriedly throwing Sam’s hand aside like a used snot rag before slumping back against his seat.

Sam, meanwhile, just sat like an open-mouthed totem pole, slowly glancing between Max, and his hand. 

Was that a good reaction?

… Then, quite out of the blue, Sam was chuckling. That special husky, back-of-the-throat sort of chortle that Max typically adored, but was _NOW_ making him feel about as hot as a steamed vegetable, and just as stupid.

“Don’t laugh!” he snapped, though something in him was grateful for the sound breaking the tension.

“S… sorry, Max…” Sam snickered. “I-it’s just… I haven’t seen you blush like that since our ninth honeymoon.”

Max’s beady eyes narrowed. “… What’re you talking about?”

“Oh, come on…” Sam smirked, leaning against his elbow. “You remember.”

Max’s eyes suddenly went wide.

“… Oh, good _Lord_ Sam-” he whimpered, ears drooped. “Not that, _please_ -”

“Now what _WAS_ it?” Sam playfully pondered, scratching at his chin. “What _WAS_ that little word…?”

“Sam, I beg you-” Max slid further into his seat, his aforementioned blush only deepening. “ _Please_ , no!”

“That magic little four syllable phrase-”

“Sam-”

“That rarely used pet name that makes you crumble like a Jenga tower-”

“ ** _SAM!_** ”

“Hm?” Sam finally looked towards Max, still smiling his complacent little smile. “Something amiss, my little Lago-Muffin?”

… As soon as it was out in the open, Max wasted no time, slamming his face into the plate of spaghetti with a low, muffled groan. Sauce went flying in all directions, but he didn’t care.

He hated Sam.

He hated that stupid nickname.

And he hated how much he loved both of them and how weak they ultimately made him…

“… So you DO remember.” Sam piped up, evidently proud of himself. He slid a noodle from Max’s scalp, before slurping it up with a satisfied gulp. “I know I remember. You and I had just nabbed the infamous Pinwheel Purloiner, and were celebrating over a chocolate malt. The whole set up was so beautifully Rockwellian that I called you that as a joke… But, low and behold, you purred like James Dean’s motorcycle makin’ sweet love to Martha Stewart’s blender.”

“… Done in by a lousy play on words.” Max mumbled into the pasta. “… How _humiliating_ …”

“Nah,” beamed Sam, raising Max’s head up by his ears. “On the contrary, I find it rather endearing.” Taking a moment to observe his partner, he added, “ _Sheesh,_ Max… ya look like a tomato…”

“Don’t remind me,” Max grumbled, eyes downcast. Sam shook his head.

“No, I mean ya got sauce all over your face. Here-”

Lifting him up and across the table, Sam drew Max into his lap. Plucking at a napkin, he then began to smother it against Max’s unwitting cheek.

“Agh-! S-Sam!” Max sputtered, writhing like a dug-up grub. “Quit it!”

Sam paused.

“Lago-Muffin.”

_‘… God dammit.’_

Max’s eyes turned to comical spirals as he slumped against Sam’s stomach in a love-struck daze. Satisfied, Sam was able to finish his cleaning before Max came to.

“… That nickname NEVER leaves this room, understood?” Max growled, still red-faced despite the lack of pasta sauce. Sam gave a soft guffaw,

“Whatever you say, Max. Do ya want me to put you ba-”

“No.” said Max stoutly, folding his arms. “I live on your lap now.”

“… For all intents and purposes, that may as well be true.” Sam considered, spooling a strand on pasta onto his fork, before passing it along to Max. Max happily obliged, snaring the fork between his razor-like teeth like a shark.

Just then, Sam’s CD reached the final track of the album.

_“~I won’t dance._

_Don’t ask me._

_I won’t dance._

_Don’t ask me._

_I won’t dance,_

_Madame, with you.~”_

And once again, Max was granted an idea.

This time, however, with more confidence.

Leaping to the floor, he bowed slightly, offering out his hand in an all-too romantic fashion.

“Sinatra may not dance, but I’d like to.” He grinned. “… Care to join me?”

The outright coolness of the gesture was enough to surprise them both. But while Max kept his composure, it was Sam’s turn to look flustered. Blushing, he nervously tugged at his bowtie.

“… W-what, uh… what brought this on?”

“Eh,” Max shrugged. “I’ve already been humiliated beyond belief… Twice now, in fact! So, I figure… third time’s the charm, right? … Besides…” He gently threaded their fingers together, urging Sam onto his feet. “… I’m a sucker for theming.”

… Maybe the awkwardness of a first date wasn’t so bad. Heck, maybe Max was even _better_ at this romance thing than he thought! He’d just have to keep at it if he wanted to get any better.

But that was alright. After all…

Max didn’t mind spicing things up every once in a while.

**Author's Note:**

> An entire fic based on a throwaway line from tumblr user Supermary64's marvelously charming prom comic. https://supermary64.tumblr.com/post/185069121172/first-part-of-a-40-pages-long-comic-im-making  
> ... I might have lost my mind a bit.  
> And be sure to check out my associative tumblr for any additional fics, headcanons, or ideas~!   
> https://fic-xation.tumblr.com/


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